Xian Wu, the Tainted
by Xephinetsa
Summary: Seduced by the promise of wealth and power, Xian Wu of the Spirit Monks taints the fountains of Dirge with human blood, weakening the temple against the might of the Imperial Army. Little does she know, that she has been deceived, and her fate is not exactly what she bargained for...


Xian Wu walked slowly down the corridors of Dirge, her hand trailing along the prayer wheels lining the stone walls, eyes closed in concentration. Her feet were bare, and made almost no sound on the marble floors of the temple as she glided across them. She masked her thoughts by surrounding her mind with an aura of light, a technique she had learned when she was young, and had built upon, as she grew older. It was a useful tool, and it made sure that she did not draw the suspicion of the other Monks in a critical time such as this. Abbot Song sensed that something was stirring beyond the mountains of Dirge - the Water Dragon was unsettled, and thus so were her guardians, but he was ignorant of the cause. She smiled to herself as one who is reassured of the future; one who knows of a coming storm, and how exactly to survive it. She passed a fellow Monk, turning the prayer wheels on the opposite wall, and she bowed slightly in acknowledgement. Their peaceful way of life would soon be altered for good, and she felt secure in the knowledge that she would play a pivotal part in their reinvention. Many would die, of course, but such is the way of change - there must be a sacrifice in order to bring it about.

When she neared the end of the prayer corridor, she made a left turn, down towards her own personal quarters, where she would await the fall of darkness. She knew that it would be a starless night, for she had read the signs in the heavens, and the absence of their light would serve her purpose. She slipped into her room and slid the door across, not wishing to be disturbed. She lit a stick of incense, and approached the small table beside her bed, opening the draw and detaching the false bottom. She withdrew a finely crafted dagger with a long, thin blade; the hilt set with jade and lined with elegantly carved silver. She whispered an enchantment over it, in an ancient, forbidden language formed in the darker days of the then pulled out a small phial, tied with a ribbon, woven from the hairs of a flaming horse, from the fell realms beyond the borders of the Jade Empire. She drew the blade across her flesh, and watched the blood drip into the phial, the scent intoxicating.

She channelled her Chi into the wound, knitting the flesh back together, and leaving not a trace of the cut she had made on her skin. She cleaned the blade of the knife, and concealed it in the sash at her waist, in anticipation of the battle to come. She then corked the phial and attached it to a string to be worn about the neck. Her preparations completed, she shut the drawer assumed a cross-legged position at the foot of her bed, closing her eyes and focused her attention on the approaching conflict.

When darkness fell, Xian Wu stirred from her private meditation and left her room without a sound, not wishing to disturb the other Monks with her departure, thus attracting attention to it. At such a late hour, most had withdrawn to their beds. She slipped out into the courtyard, the necklace bouncing against her chest with each hurried step. She stole down the stairs and across the open yard, making her way towards one of the two fountains flowing with the pure, cleansing water, blessed by the Dragon herself, and used often in the sacred rituals of her people. She felt not a twinge of regret at what she was about to do, instead she felt only expectation of the reward she had been assured. She removed the string from her neck and uncorked the phial, tilting it to allow a single drop of her blood to fall into the fountain waters. Her voice was clear and terrible as she spoke the words of tainting over the once pure waters of her mistress, whom she had betrayed. Human blood would weaken her power and the strength of Dirge would fail at its time of greatest need.

Just as the sun was peeking shyly over the mountains, shedding its pale light upon the empty courtyards of Dirge, the sound of many marching feet could be heard from below. The gongs were sounded at the sight of a great army, but too late was the warning. The Monks gathered in the courtyards, prepared to defend their temple from intruders. The Emperor proceeded the head of the army, and behind him followed his two most loyal servants; his brother, Prince Kin, and Death's Hand in armour black. They were a terrible sight to behold, and a few of the Monks faltered, and were slain in their moment of weakness. The rest, however, drew their weapons and leapt bravely into the fray, determined to take down as many of the invaders as they could before they too were slain.

The battle had been hopeless from the beginning. The Monks were few, and were soon overwhelmed by the forces of the Emperor. They fought valiantly, but with the betrayal of their own, those who had once called them brother, they could not withstand the might of the army. Xian Wu fought savagely against her kin, her blade dancing with a deadly elegance, and many fell to her hand before the battle was won. The anguished cry of the Water Dragon echoed through all the mountains as her heart was ripped from her, and the lingering strength of Dirge failed with her, the remaining Monks slain.

Xian Wu stood among the carnage, her blade gleaming with the blood of her kin; her eyes alight with madness. She awaited the arrival of the Glorious Strategist, and with him the promised reward of wealth and power beyond mortal comprehension. She could not have guessed that he had deceived her, and that he had fled Dirge with the Last of the Spirit Monks, leaving her and her traitorous brothers at the mercy of his brother, Sun Hai.

The Emperor gathered the traitors in the courtyard and observed their blood-splattered robes with a cold, calculating gaze. He then called upon the power of the Water Dragon in a thunderous voice, and tore their souls from their bodies, cursing them to dwell ever more in Dirge, bound to the fountains which they had tainted with their blood. The mountain air was split with her tormented screams, and she fell to her knees, desperately clawing at the ground in a wretched attempt to escape her oppressor. Her body went limp, but her corrupted spirit was called upon by the Emperor, forced to exist between the living and the dead, condemned to never find rest.


End file.
